


Stop the Clock

by HoneyDoodleGem_1416



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implications of smut, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, but nothing too graphic, ghosts/phantoms, mentions of Matt/Mello - Freeform, mentions of the task force, my own little twist on a soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyDoodleGem_1416/pseuds/HoneyDoodleGem_1416
Summary: "L remembers the exact date, the exact hour, the exact minute, the exact second that his body decided to stop growing, a natural progression that his bones had deemed fruitless, pointless."A soulmate AU where your body stops aging if your soulmate dies.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 16
Kudos: 133





	Stop the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating around in my head for a little while, but it's only recently that I've been able to write it. I am very excited to share my first fic that is actually based around cannon, though (of course) I couldn't resist making it an AU!
> 
> Enjoy!

L remembers the exact date, the exact hour, the exact minute, the exact second that his body decided to stop growing, a natural progression that his bones had deemed fruitless, pointless.

It is incredibly tiresome now. The Kira case, while fascinating, was supposed to be a case just like any other. Yes, L had suspected that it would be more perplexing, a bigger, more complicated puzzle for his eager fingers to put together, but he had never expected this. Initially, 4 months maximum, a trip to Japan, and as many sweets as he could eat were all that he required; the case, like all others, would swiftly become simple and he would unravel it until his own interest had waned and then submit whatever was required to INTERPOL and be done with it. 

What L had not expected, however, was a case that dragged out, gods of death, and an unassuming, black, killer notebook. Most of all, L had not expected one variable: Light Yagami.

The boy had been brilliant, too brilliant, and too attractive to be the bland student he claimed to be. Number 1 student in all of Japan was nothing to scoff at, but even that held trivial value, only providing a stab of excitement before giving way to boredom. What excitement was there in grades? None, L had decided swiftly and, after seeing the picture in Light’s case file, watching him on the hidden cameras he had placed in his home, L had decided that he was Kira as well. His very bones seemed to sing it, a distracting little hum that ran from his head to the tips of his toes.

Yes, he had not expected Light Yagami. He had not expected those brilliant eyes to arouse a pool of lust in him, nor had he expected the boy to let him act on his desires. He can still remember the taste of Light’s skin, damp with sweat and moisture from the shower as he fucked him in the To-oh locker room after Light’s tennis victory. It had made Light pliable, victory, or at least that’s what L had thought at the time. He thought he could taste the warm hum of delight, the spark of adrenaline, that flowed through his suspect’s veins at each gift of touch L bestowed upon him. 

Light was never pliable. Those sharp eyes mock him now from L’s memory. “I was using you,” they say, “to get closer to your name, to your heart.” 

And yet Light Yagami let the instances happen again, and again, and again. L had felt shame for his attraction to his primary suspect, the man whom he believed with every fiber of his being was the mass murderer he was searching for, but it hadn’t lasted long. Shame, along with rational thought, was lost as soon as he was embedded in the clutch of Light’s body. 

It was curious, so curious, the way Light would look upon him. Those eyes never lost their piercing sharpness, but they did let it fade until it was almost hidden, just enough that L could have written it off as misjudgment on his part, human error. He thought Light was intrigued by him too, still thinks it now. 

When Light was confined, L remembers feeling in control for one of the first times since meeting Light. It was boring, cruel almost, to have denied himself and the boy the ability to see each other privately. Light was always under surveillance, hands bound behind his back, feet tied together, and locked in his prison cell. There would be no more games and percents exchanged over a cup of coffee or secret fucking under the guise of studying for exams. 

L was in control, yes. He had a constant view of Light, held his fate in his hands, and yet those  _ eyes _ . They still never changed. The eyes of a viper, L thinks to himself now, the eyes of a snake. They were always finding the perfect camera, locking L’s gaze in place even if Light himself was clueless as to the situation. While over the speaker, L never let his voice tremble or falter, but if there was a man who had the power to make it so, it was Light Yagami.

When Light had acted strangely, memory apparently gone and actions hurried, frantic,  _ genuine _ —No, not genuine; he cannot allow himself that liberty—the handcuffs had bound them together. Light Yagami was a different man then. Those cutting eyes had rounded, still striking in their beauty but softer around the edges, younger. He spoke differently, acted differently. His thoughts and actions were always briefly stalled, as if he were running them through a processor before proceeding—though L knew that to be the fault of his own watchful eyes. But Light was as brilliant as ever. Young, beautiful, brilliant.

A stab of longing hits him as he sips his tea, cringing at the bitterness that will not leave his tongue. He had entered a relationship with Light, his first ever and only. The official proclamation had only been uttered once, but it was undoubtedly a mutual understanding. Even more rare were the instances that Light addressed him as anything other than “Ryuzaki.” “Boyfriend” was hardly ever used, as that would bring to light what was already ingrained into their hearts, and “L” only slipped past Light’s lips as wanton moans and whines. But Light was happy, L knew. And so was L.

L told Light he loved him few times in the entire time he knew the man, though he had felt love for him long before then and would continue to feel love long after then. The first time ever had been the only time he heard Light beg. “Tell me. Tell me again and again. Tell me forever so I’ll never forget.” 

And so he had, again and again.

After a short while the chain between them became unnecessary. Light was attached to him always, whether Light liked to believe it or not. Even without the chain they would remain close enough to touch. It was a show, an act. What had bound them the tightest was their intellect, always on the same wavelength on every topic but one: Kira.

Light believed steadfast in his innocence. When mentions of Kira were brought back from work to their hotel room Light was irritable. He wanted nothing to do with L, not in any way, shape, or form. He always told L he would prove his innocence, prove to his lover that he was not a monster.

L thought differently. He had seen both sides of the man he loved. Kira was cruel, sharp intoxication, a subtle poison slipped into the deep maroon of fine wine. Light was softer, human. His skin gave when L pressed fingers to his hips and thighs. He was hardened from experience, cursed with the isolation of geniuses, but he was moral and almost unbearably uptight. L loved his stuffiness. 

Kira and Light, he realized, were one in the same. One would disappear when the other appeared, but there was always the potential for the repressed personality to come back and resurface. Kira and Light shared a body and shared a mind; there could not be one without the other. L knew it made Light dangerous, volatile, poisonous, but it was also what made him thrilling. L loved them both unabashedly, Light and Kira, though he had known Kira could never truly love him back. They were foils, enemies. One of their deaths would bring the other to unobstructed greatness. 

The night before Higuchi’s arrest, Light had rolled over in bed to face him. “You feel it too…” He had said, eyes pensive. “Something big is coming.”

When Light’s fingers touched that notebook L knew he had made a horrible mistake. Light screamed and L felt him dying, slipping between his fingers, out of reach. But then Light had kissed him, in front of anyone who would see if they had felt nothing more complex than a whim to turn, and L’s heart had leapt. Light had bitten his lip as he pulled back, and when L tasted metallic copper on his tongue he imagined that Light had injected his venom into his body. So sweet was the death-sentence that L felt no pain, no self pity, no fear, only the burning of the poison that flowed through his veins.

It was partly chance that he had survived, though he couldn’t discredit his and Watari’s quick work that slipped under the incompetent, but invasive, noses of the Task Force. Before his heart had stopped, Light was being arrested. He sat, like any other day, in his chair and watched the disbelieving, breaking members of the Task Force handcuff a squirming, shouting Light. If he had acted a second too late, L suspects that he would have been watching a very different scene play out from a very different angle, one that involved him dying on the cold ground of headquarters. 

Would Light have held him while he died? It is a question he often asks himself, when he is in the right mood of course. L thinks he might have. Light loved to gloat, have the last word, the last look, the last anything, truly. But part of L thinks that Light would have been remorseful, reverent, while holding his dying body. He would have been gentle, L decides. A lover’s touch. L feels it now as a phantom hand around his throat. The hand squeezes. L smiles.

With the evidence undeniable, Light was promptly convicted and sentenced to live the rest of his short life in a solitary holding cell. The Task Force, with there no longer being any need for their assistance, were paid their fair share—and then some—and disbanded to allow them to return to their old jobs on the NPA. L mostly spent his time organizing for INTERPOL. Unfortunately, they would want documents from him and he would have to supply them. It was boring, all alone in the empty HQ. L had often found himself looking down at his wrist, picturing the chain that had once connected him to a lover, a young man of 18 with a brilliant mind and nose for justice.

When the work became too much to bear, L had slipped into his maudlin mood and succumbed. His veins no longer pulsed and burned with the danger of death, but the imaginary chain between himself and Light had been pulled too taunt and it was chafing his wrist.

The fact that he was the only one who had access to Light’s cell inflated his chest a touch more than he would have liked to admit. Anyone else who wanted to speak to the condemned man would have to arrange a meeting and even then it would not be held so loosely and without bounds as the clandestine meeting L intended on having with Light. 

The first thing he noticed was Light’s expression. The surprise in his eyes flashed like lightning and vanished, but, for once, L had not been interested in his eyes. His smile, pulling at those beautiful lips, was calculated. Soft like flower petals, but there were rose thorns in the cruelty at the corners of his mouth. 

“You came.” Light had said, his voice soft, lilting, as L had let himself in, dismissing the guards that lingered at the cell’s sides. 

The second thing he noticed, with more than a hint of satisfaction, was that Light had been prepared according to his orders. The man was bound in a straightjacket but his legs were free, their lithe shape hidden by baggy gray sweatpants. Ugly, entirely unfit for Light, but accessible, soft, simple. 

“I’m scared…” Light had muttered the confession into his hair after they were both spent, Light still seated in his lap. “I don’t want to die.”

L cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth, listening to Light’s breathing. “Was it worth it Light? Trying to be a little god?”

Light wrenched himself back, fury in his eyes. “You will  _ not  _ speak to me that way.” He hissed and suddenly Light’s skin was fire. “I  _ hate you _ .”

But then L was moving his hips and Light was keening, seeking out his own pleasure while he writhed in L’s lap. So easy, the switch was, between Kira and Light, the young man’s face back in his hair, mouthing at his neck, while L kept him balanced. 

“When are you leaving?” Light asked, a breathless quality to his voice and the flush of his cheeks lingering.

“Soon,” L said, still unrelenting in keeping up most of his walls. His fingers ran along Light’s thighs and upwards to touch as much of his torso as he could while being barred by the straightjacket.

A silence settled upon them that was only broken by their own breathing. It was comfortable, reminding L of the months they had spent together quite recently, in the grand scheme of things, but what felt like happened long ago. 

Light was the one to break it, “Do you believe in soulmates?” The look he received from L was obviously unsatisfactory to the young man, as his eyebrows pulled together before he continued so L could not interject. “People are raving over it right now… There are so many stories about true love and soulmates. They swear it’s real.”

“It’s nothing but a wives’-tale.” L said. The notion was ridiculous and there was no evidence to back it up. All he was trying to figure out now was Light’s angle.

“So gods of death and killer notebooks can be real but true soulmates can’t?” Light questioned, voice plain and inquisitive as if this was a regular conversation to be having. As if they were regular people.

“Proof is the difference.” 

Light made to speak but L wrapped his arms around his waist and laid him down on the small rectangular cot Light was allotted, white sheets soiled, and pulled out of his body. He laid still while L fetched his discarded pants and cooperated while L helped redress him. 

“You and I… We belong together. We’re matched.” L cursed himself as his hands stalled on his jeans, continuing to dress himself though he knew Light had caught the slip. “We’re matched,” Light repeated, and the word ‘soulmates’ rolled around on L’s tongue, an automatic initiative his brain had taken despite himself to complete his beloved’s thoughts. It caught on its way out of his mouth and he felt it all the way down his throat as he swallowed it back down again.

When Light sat up, L came to rest beside him, staring at Light’s profile before the condemned man turned and met his lips. “You’ll be bored when I’m gone…” Light whispered across them, but it wasn’t his Light any longer.

L pulled himself from the kiss and from the room, allowing himself to meet Light’s eyes over his shoulder. They were torn, a raging sea rocking and destroying the soon-to-be-dead man whom they belonged to. Longing pleaded with him to stay, but contempt and fury burned and made those hazel eyes red. 

‘I hate you. I wish you were dead,’ L’s mind supplied for the poor soul as he turned and left Light alone. He was just thankful that Light hadn’t shouted after him and made a fool of himself.

* * *

Kira would be executed by hanging in a little over a week’s time, but L couldn’t have that. Imagining Light’s pretty neck constricted by a noose, legs wiggling as he tried to set himself free, left a bitter taste in his mouth. The thought of people who were not him watching made the bitterness so unbearable that he thought he might wretch.

Light was not informed of the change of plans, so when he was brought into a sterile, white room with nothing but a chair in the middle, a medical tray, and L, his surprise was obvious. The room had no windows, only a door, and once he was pushed inside, hands cuffed behind his back and the movement of his legs constricted by a short chain that connected to his ankles, he was left alone with L. 

L approached him calmly, slowly, knowing his last moments with Light were numbered. “Will you be good for me?” L asked as he rested a hand on the small of Light’s back, starting to guide him to the chair. 

Light shuffled along and, to his credit, kept up. A soft “Always” left his lips as they approached, and L’s gentle hands pushed him downwards. 

The handcuffs were removed and, instead, Light was bound tightly to the chair with wrist restraints. His movement was further restricted by leather straps that marred his chest and torso, holding him down like the cold grip of death that was awaiting him. L kneeled before him to unchain his ankles and instead lock them into place, rising to meet Light’s eyes once he was finished. They were stony, but fear lingered in the way the too-bright light hit his irises. 

“Very thorough…” Light noted and then laughed, but the sound was hollow, forced. He eyed the table and once he caught sight of the syringe, his mouth pinched into a tight line. “You’re going to kill me.”

“I had your execution changed… It was all I could do.” L muttered as he moved around the table, unable to shake the ache in his chest and bones. “I believe you prefer lethal injection to hanging. At least this way it’s more personal, less animalistic.”

“I can’t imagine going through either.” Light said, and his body jerked against the restraints, a test of their strength. The color vanished from his skin when he realized he was truly trapped. 

L’s guts twisted at the sight and he brushed his fingers against the other man’s cheek. “I assure you it will be entirely painless.” He wanted to offer Light so much more comfort than those trivial words, but it didn’t feel right. Not for Kira, and not for himself. He had gotten attached and this was his price to pay. He had to break away, and this was the beginning, right at the end.

Light laughed but leaned heavily into his touch, eyes closed, breathing shallow. “Thank you,” he choked out as L drew back and sanitized the patch of skin on Light’s beautiful body that would receive the toxin and shut him down.

“You don’t have to do this you know.” Light said as L examined the needle, swallowing the lump in his throat at the thought of what it would do to Light. 

He gave Light no answer as he turned back around, positioning the needle over the vein. He waited for Light’s body to jerk, but no such thing happened. The man sat still, paler than L had ever seen him, and watched L’s face. 

An unsaid ‘I love you’ stuck in his throat and he thought he should say it now, but his tongue refused to form the words. Instead he said, “Any last words Light?” 

The other man swallowed and silence followed, but eventually Light found his voice, soft, but full of strength, “We’re the same, L. You’re my match.” 

Their lips met for what L knew would be the final time. This was his Light before him, Light Yagami, but it wouldn’t be long before Kira returned. He couldn’t take Light with him. It would be a huge liability and a foolhardy move on his part, one inspired by something so trivial as love. Anything could happen, and Light could not be trusted. Kira would kill him if he had the chance, and something within him told him that Light would be devastated if that happened. This was the only way to cleanse his love, to save him after he let him fall. 

The needle slipped in and L heard Light take a shuddering breath. Tears were welling up in the man’s eyes now and L brushed them away with tender fingers as they fell, watching Light’s breaths even out into nothing until his eyes were vacant and glassy. 

He remembers setting the needle down calmly before he became chaos, flipping the tray with violent force and shattering its contents, screaming, pulling his hair. It was all a blur now, but the thing he remembers most is standing beside Light’s body when he had finally calmed. He remembers slipping Light’s eyes shut and kissing his already cooling cheek, tucking his face into the crook of Light’s neck and holding him. 

It wasn’t until he left the room that he felt something in his core shift out of place. His body felt wrong, still his own, but changed forever. It was as if he was suddenly doused in ice water, chilling, consuming, unsettling.

As soon as Light’s heart had stopped beating his body had given up. He knew, deep in his heart, that the problem that had been making his life hell for the last 15 years was his own fault, a byproduct of his foolish decision to execute Light. Foolish, foolish, foolish!

After what was probably far too soon since the execution, L took up case after case in Japan. He made visiting the Yagami family, more specifically Mrs. Yagami and Light’s younger sister Sayu, a frequent occurrence. Under the guise of Light’s mournful college lover Ryuzaki, he would join them for tea and tell stories of Light, some of them made up, some of them true.

It was selfish, he knew, but it was a comfort to him. He was repaying his debts to the Yagami family, slowly shaving away the guilt that had built up in his bones. But when his body refused to keep pace with time, he had to abandon the outings and leave the Yagami family forever. A few years without obvious signs of aging was normal, imperceptible. But 10 years without a single change, no facial hair, no lines or creases in the skin, no change in height or figure, was unheard of. To leave them was heartbreak, but to stay was impossible. 

He could vanish from the Yagami residence easily, but what he could not step away from was Wammy’s House. Even after year 5 he caught the first wind of rumors. “There’s a ghost that haunts Wammy’s,” some kids would say. “No, no!  _ I  _ heard that L is immortal!” “Well I heard that L is nothing more than computer software.”

After the rumors grew in strength, L stopped walking the halls of his childhood home, resigning himself to the building that he had built beside the orphanage for his own private use. Though on the rare occasion that he did return, any child who caught a glimpse of him stared with wide eyes. L figured they were trying to decide whether he was a phantom or whether their eyes were deceiving them, presenting them with a man who didn’t age.

* * *

L is working in his office when he notices the shift in the room, the prickle on his skin. He looks up to find Light standing in the doorway. His translucent skin gives L an unobstructed view of the living area that lies just outside his office, but his eyes are drawn to the apron tied snug around the curve of his hips and lower still to the tray of coffee and treats Light carries. 

“Not now, Light. I am busy.” He says, but the man’s smile only widens.

He takes sure steps into the room, “Even for me?” He asks and sets the tray on L’s desk, pushing its corner with the tip of a finger until it is perfectly straight. “You always have time for me.”

L watches him silently before his computer screen steals his attention away. He only hears Light’s huff before his weight drops into his lap, lighter than L remembers. Light’s hands cover his eyes, but they do not obstruct his vision. His touch cools his skin and makes his eyes water, but he stares through it all the same. 

“You could have had this.” Light whispers in his ear. “We could have been fine.”

“You would have killed me…” L offers to the air, a shiver trembling his core at the icy touch of Light’s tongue as it runs along the rim of his ear.

“I was always yours,” Light says, and L thinks about what an incredible liar he is. His hands travel from L’s eyes to skim over his chest, fingers fanning out and growing sharp icicles within his chest. “And now you’re always _ mine _ .”

Light kisses him then, and L falls into it just as he always did, heart and lips jumping at the opportunity to join their counterparts. Whereas Light’s plush, pink lips were once warm, they are now cold, a painful reminder of all that he had lost, had thrown away. 

“I love you,” L says, but it is to an empty room. 

* * *

Light visits him often, even more now as the years since his death stretch on. He is always young. He is always as cold as death. And he is always beautiful. Their interactions follow a similar pattern: L denies his presence or dismisses him, Light disobeys, and L’s heart is in shambles by the end. 

He isolates himself as much as he can to increase Light’s visits. He cannot remember the last time he traveled to another country for a case, let alone the last time he walked the short distance to Wammy’s House. Watari still cooks and cleans and helps L in any way he can. He brings him books and doctors and urban legends, anything that might solve L’s problems or chase away the ghosts that seem to trail behind him. 

It has been 15 years, but L is still 26 in appearance and even more so in the ever-expanding presence of Light. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that Light is chained to him still, warm and pliable instead of cold and translucent. When he wakes up to Light laying beside him, he imagines that he is back in Japan, investigating the third Kira. So powerful, the mind is.

His rational mind tells him that it was long ago. So, so long ago. Both men had given that life up and turned their backs on each other. For Light, it was when he reached over and grasped that damn notebook in his hands. For L, it was when he slipped that needle into Light’s body and allowed the poison to stop his heart. Such decisive actions had separated them permanently, and neither of them could be undone.

But Light had thrown that all away first. If he had not touched the notebook, who knows where fate would have taken them from there. Kira may not have resurfaced, but that damn impulse was too powerful. Light had to know, and once he knew he could not turn back, could not ignore his so-called “perfect world” that he aspired to be the ruler, the god of. For what? At what cost? He had given up  _ everything  _ and left L with the pieces. He had left L alone, without his beloved, without his Light, without his match.

Foolish, stupid, silly little god! His fist pounds out every unspoken syllable until his hand is red, the flex of his fingers as it uncurls painful and raw. “L? Are you alright?” Light asks from the doorway, his face a perfect mask of concern.

“I’m fine, Light.”

“Light?” The figure takes a new shape. Blond hair replaces brown. Blue eyes replace amber. The young man is thin like his Light, but much more so. Thinner than Light ever was.

“I misspoke. I apologize, Mello.”

His second in line furrows his brows and his crystal blue eyes flash, but then he is gone. L hears rumors that he and his hacker are going to get married soon. L tries not to loathe the practice, but he does. 

His first in line is the closest thing to himself that he has seen. Sometimes he can almost convince himself that Near is in the same predicament as he is. “Have you lost someone too?” often threatened to spill from his mouth when he saw the boy, but over the years subtle differences proved his suspicions—or maybe hopes—false. Near had grown a few inches since L had started paying attention and his snow white hair had grown slightly in length.

It is L’s firm belief that Near and Mello only began to work together once they noticed his lack of change. Time seemed to have no effect on L, and that was the biggest mystery of their young lives. To not only discover L, but to know his secrets was too tantalizing of an offer to pass up. Soon, L had watched Mello abandon his rivalry and, in a snap, it became common to see both boys together.

They were no longer boys, though. Their bodies, unlike L’s, grew and changed with time. L knew Mello to be somewhere in his late twenties and Near was just 2 years behind him. He had watched both boys mature from their teenage selves over the last 15 years, watching their growth with envy and anger. Time had not made them outcasts. No one had slotted within them like a puzzle piece and left them unfinished, filled with holes. Mello has his match. Near doesn’t seem to care for one. L has lost his. It isn’t fair.

* * *

L sits alone on his bed, the exact time lost on him. In his hand, he tilts a small, sharp blade, watching the light dance across the fine metal. He places it to the pad of his finger and watches a bead of bright red blood well up and streak down his finger. Somehow it’s comforting to know that he is still not impervious to damage. He is mortal, and one day he will die. It humors him to think about the probability of his death coming from old age, if it is even possible.

“Again?” Light chides, pulling L’s bleeding finger towards him and examining it with those sharp, cunning eyes. His lips press against the cut and smear his blood. “You should be more careful, L. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m sorry…” L says absently, watching the wall instead of Light. 

His torso feels cold and he discovers that Light has snaked his arms around it, pressing his pale, ghostly face to the crevice that separates L’s chest from his arm. “You think too much.” His voice is tantalizing and L finds his twitching fingers grasping Light’s cheeks and pulling his head up so that he can pepper his icy skin with kisses.

“You did this.” He says between fevered brushes of his lips. “You did this to me.”

He looks up and sees Light smiling, his mouth twisted. It is malevolent, cruel, alluring. He smiles even though L is sucking at his neck hard enough to leave a welt, but when he moves down Light’s body no trace of him is left behind. 

“Bastard…” He spits as Light’s shirt falls open at the gentlest of touches. “Bastard.”

Light’s hands push him until he is laying down, flat on his back with Light’s lithe frame seated on his stomach. “You’re beautiful…  _ My  _ beautiful L.” 

The phantom’s tenderness traps his heart in a cage and the possessiveness of his tone drives a stake through it until L is well and truly beaten. He raises his hand to cup Light’s cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth just as he had when Light met his end. “My little god.”

Light’s smile widens and playfulness dances across his eyes. His cold hand comes to rest over L’s beating heart and L swears he catches a flash of envy. “My match,” Light says, and his voice is raw and laid bare before L. The warmth of L’s hand encases Light’s as he meets his beloved’s amber eyes. 

“Soulmates,” L says, completing the thought at last.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I tried to give my boys a happy(ish) ending, but it's kind of hard when one of them is dead... 
> 
> This is probably one of my favorite things that I have ever written, so I really hope you all enjoyed! If you did, please leave kudos and/or a comment! Comments absolutely make my day and I respond to every one. 
> 
> Until next time <3


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